The joke has been worn so many times it's see-through. It has been 500 years since March, or some variation thereof. Every month, sometimes every week, bringing a new challenge to respond to. Sometimes that challenge is just completing all the little tasks that need to get done, even in these strange times. Sometimes it's bigger with more uncertainty.
I don't know how we get through. I could not have coped with knowing that this would go on for so long when it all started in March. When I think about it, I'm reassured to see how well I've been able to weather it and I'm heartened by the goodness that has been revealed in the ways that people have reached out to help one another, even as, of course, the querulousness and bickering grow louder.
And I am So. Tired.
I'm reminded of something Nicholas Wolterstorff said in Lament for a Son: "Death is the great leveller, so our writers have always told us. Of course they are right. But they have neglected to mention the uniqueness of each death--and the solitude of suffering which accompanies that uniqueness. We say, 'I know how you are feeling.' But we don't."
There's both a unity and an isolation in how each of us is dealing with this situation. Each of us faces a similar global story: a novel virus sweeping the globe in ways that we have predicted but not so far seen in quite this way in recent history. Out of concern for ourselves and our loved ones, we've shut down so much of our social lives, restricted our movements, retreated into our homes and separate spaces. As individuals and governments struggle to chart a response, though, the original contours of the story begin to diverge for each person.
Someone else has lost a loved one, or even several depending on the circumstances. Someone else has lost their job. Yet another person was deemed an essential worker and had to work under very high stress conditions, sometimes for measly pay and little recognition in spite of the public plaudits offered more visible workers. We demanded that transit workers, trash collectors, delivery drivers, and hospital janitorial staff sacrifice their lives for us. Some people can't make rent and face eviction as housing courts reopen and emergency stays lift. And in the midst of all of this, the bruises of trauma and ignorance in national conversations about race.
Every single person has a different set of circumstances. The uniqueness of our lives, and the uniqueness of "the solitude of suffering," can be difficult to navigate. I have it so good, in terms of being cushioned from financial, health, and housing impacts, but I'm also isolated and depressed as the days grind on with no sign of improvement. I struggle to concentrate, to plan for the future, to go outside and take a walk.
I wonder in all this story of loss whether there's anything we've gained. I'm trying to think about these things, because I want there to be some kind of balance here. It is so hard. And also, in hard times, there are opportunities for good things to arise. If you think of any, let me know.
